They Are Survivors
by socks-lost
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Jane walks into Maura's house after work. Picks up from there. Mostly in Jane's POV but delves into Maura's a little bit too. Christmas themed one-shot.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own. No money. ETC.

* * *

The air of December is strong. It's Christmas and the smell of home fills the entire house. It reminds her of days from her childhood. She would come into the house, her mother yelling at her for dripping on the carpet, her face red and nose cold. She'd change her clothes and come down the stairs still shivering a wide smile on her face because it was _Christmas. _Her mother would wrap her in the throw from the back of the couch and put a cup of cocoa in her hand. Coming in from playing in the snow was one of the few times she let her mother hold her, and standing there in the middle of her best friend's house felt like that.

When she came in from the work day, she just had to fill out paperwork from the last case, with snow clinging to her dark hair, hugging her coat tightly to her body, nose and cheeks so red she is sure she could lead Santa's sleigh, it hits her. Right there in the foyer of Maura's home.

_Home. Love. Companionship._

Her dog runs up to her tail wagging furiously behind her, even Bass made an effort to turn in her direction. Her mother is yelling about Tommy sneaking a cookie and Frankie is sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand as he talks with Lydia who is holding TJ.

And then Jane's eyes finally land on the one person she desperately, unknowingly had been looking for. Her eyes land on Maura and it's as if she's the last puzzle piece, as if Christmas is now complete. She's wearing a Santa hat and a Christmas sweater and jeans and Jane thinks she's never seen the woman look so perfect in her entire life. The hat is red and the white rimmed fuzz sticks out against Maura's nearly blond hair and she's barely wearing any makeup and that wide smile graces her face when their eyes meet.

Jane wants to do so many things, be so many things, say so many things in this moment. But it all gets clogged like a traffic jam and she doesn't even know what it is she wants she just knows she wants something. And Maura's already standing in front of her, hazel eyes full of warmth and happiness and giddiness and love. And Jane wants to know what kind of love, but instead she just mumbles a 'hey' and knows the redness on her face isn't just from the cold.

Maura's smile broadens with a hint of concern. "Jane, you must be freezing!" She reaches out and rubs Jane's arms for a brief moment before pulling the coat from the detective's skinny form and hanging it on the hook. She loops her arm through Jane's and leads her away to the guest room where she's already set out a pair of fresh clothes for Jane on the bed. "I can't believe you had to work on Christmas Eve." Maura says absently as she detaches herself from Jane.

Jane laughs because she could remember a time almost four years ago when it was Maura steadfastly trapped in the basement of the morgue waiting on a dead body that would never come as the Boston winter whirls around her kicking up snow. Jane laughs because Maura is as much of a workaholic as she is and it's Christmas and her house feels like home.

When Maura steps away from her she immediately regrets the distance, the lack of body heat. "Cavanaugh needed that report in." She untucks her shirt and sits on the bed to kick her boots off. Her socks are wet. She looks to Maura about to ask if she could borrow a pair only to have a ball of the softest black socks she's ever felt already in front of her with the quirk of a perfect eyebrow. Of course Maura has a pair of socks for her to wear, of course. "Thanks." She takes her wet ones off and puts the new pair on. "What's that you're always telling me about procrastination?"

Maura laughs. "Don't do it?" Jane nods and stands, her fingers go to the buttons of her shirt. After an entire day of fastidious typing and handwriting they are slow and hardly work and it's a struggle to undo the three buttons she gets to. She doesn't know why but she feels like crying as she remembers it took her five minutes to put the stupid thing on. Winters and snow and hands do not go well together. She's in the middle of the fight when steady hands cover hers because not all hands struggle to work in the winter. "I got it." Maura's breath is hot against her face and smells of hot chocolate and sugar. She can't meet the other woman's eyes or face but knows with the delicate way she's unbuttoning her shirt, with the way Maura's words hang between them that she's smiling and it's okay that her hands don't work sometimes.

Jane sighs as the last button falls loose and Maura pushes it from her shoulders. It's Christmas and she really ought to get her mind out of the dark path it's headed towards, before the pain in her hands becomes a pain in her head. And Maura's hands are there again pulling at her tank top and unfastening her belt. She seems to be getting carried away in the task and Jane lets her. Because her entire immediate family is in her living room. And she knows what that feels like, what it must feel like to Maura who never had any of this before. No matter how many years went by with a full house of the same people Jane knew it would probably always be slightly overwhelming, slightly unnerving.

So she lets Maura pull her tank-top over her head, listens as she scolds her about wearing thicker clothing, lets her pull the long-sleeved shirt over her head in its place and the sweater over that before going for her pants. They fall heavy to the floor still ladened with her gun and badge and cuffs and phone, the carpet softens the sound. And she knows by the relief she feels as it all falls away from her, the way her shoulders finally fall in relaxation that it's been a long year.

She knows she looks ridiculous standing there in her black socks and Christmas sweater and underwear. But Maura is still talking about winter lines and winter clothing and Jane can hear the smile in her voice as she bends down jeans in hand and tells her to step into the pants. She uses Maura's shoulder for balance and let's herself pull the pants up all the way once they get to her knees. Maura turns away as she buttons them and Jane thinks she's about to leave but then there is a bright red Santa hat thrust into her hands.

Maura smiles. "Please?"

Jane can only nod. She takes the hat and places it crookedly on her head. She takes a moment to fix her hair and then quirks an eyebrow at her friend. "How's it look?"

There's a slight pause between her question and Maura's answer. There's a slight pause in which Maura's eyes don't run down her body or stare wantonly at her lips. Her smile grew wider though and she brushed a stray dark curl away and underneath the bright red hat. "Perfect."

…

Jane and Maura are both thrown straight into the chaos the second they step out of their sanctuary. Korsak and Frost have also joined in on the festivities and her mother is talking to Lydia's mother. Everyone has some sort of drink in their hand, it's loud, the baby is talking gibberish, Frankie laughs obnoxiously from the couch at something Frost said and Jane feels Maura take a tiny step backwards into the hallway.

Jane reaches out because that's what she does, who she is. She takes Maura's hand in her tired one and squeezes giving her a reassuring smile while she's at it. "It'll be okay." She says. She wants to say more, say better but she's Jane Rizzoli and more and better don't always happen. So she settles for what she knows.

Maura swallows hard giving herself a big nod. Being here with everyone without Jane for so many hours had drained her. So she holds tight to Jane's hand and takes the step forward because with Jane she can always step forward. Jane gives a tiny imperceptible smile and offers another squeeze to Maura's hand.

Her mother greets her with surprise wondering when she snuck in the house. Korsak nods at her over an eggnog and nobody talks about their intertwined fingers. Jane sneaks a cookie sticking it in her mouth as she makes herself a cup of hot chocolate one handed. Maura looks on amused. Jane laughs as she throws some marshmallows into the concoction. She starts to make a second one for Maura but the cookie in her mouth starts to crumble. Maura catches it before Jane even asks her too. They both laugh, their fingers still tightly wound together.

And Jane has that feeling again.

_Home. Love. Companionship. _

Big words, that mean big things. But right then in Maura's kitchen where she knew where the doctor kept all of the silverware and the good china and the secret stash of unhealthy items Maura would vehemently deny the existence of and her instant coffee, those words weren't so scary.

She feels safe and secure in everything they refuse to say, in everything they dance around. She feels safe and secure with Maura's hand in hers, her presence so close. She feels safe and secure. She never feels safe and secure. But she does then, she does in that kitchen on Saturday mornings in her running gear, she does with Maura's hand safely tucked into hers. She feels safe and secure and it's Christmas and her heart expands because they're both wearing Santa hats and Christmas sweaters and Maura gave her a pair of socks without her ever having to ask.

She laughs when Maura takes a sip of her cocoa and her nose comes away from the mug covered in foam and whipped cream. Maura laughs too.

Angela looks at her daughter a knowing smile on her face. Jane's finally happy. That was all she needed for Christmas. She shares a knowing look with Vince and they both nod approvingly. Jane's in good hands. And so is Maura.

The kids are alright.

…

When it's time to open presents they all sit in Maura's living room. Filled to the brim with people it doesn't feel so huge, so empty. The tree takes up a good portion of the space as do the presents underneath, but no one seems to mind. Everyone is laughing and cheering as Frankie passes the presents out to everyone. Jane and Maura are both on the floor cross legged with their knees touching. Conversation is light which is refreshing considering most of everyone's line of work in the room.

Maura glances at Jane out of the corner of her eye as she catches a present Frankie threw at her a huge smile on her otherwise serious face. Then she turns her eyes to check in on everyone else. Korsak is laughing sitting next to Angela, Lydia and Tommy are speaking and Lydia's mother is holding the baby while talking with Frost. They make a scrappy bunch, a ragtag clan of misfits is what they are but she wouldn't have it any other way. This life is the life she chose, the life that chose her. This is how she always imagined Christmas was supposed to be. Full of life and love and laughter.

"Heads up!" Frankie yells as he throws a small neatly wrapped box at Maura. She's too slow, too caught in her reverie but luckily Jane caught the item before it hit her in the face or fell to the floor.

"Better pay attention there, Slick." Jane teases.

Maura rolls her eyes at the nickname. She had insisted they go running in the snow a week ago. And of course she was the one who had told Jane it was going to be slick and wet and to watch for ice on the sidewalk, and of course she was the one who slipped and fell on the slick ice that she neglected to watch for because she was watching Jane. Jane ended up carrying her the rest of the way home and she hasn't heard the end of it yet.

She bumps their shoulders and takes the box from Jane's hand. Her living room is being enveloped by the cacophonous sound of ripping wrapping paper and Christmas music and Frankie finally sits down with his own pile of presents. She looks down and is surprised by the amount by her. She tries to keep her eyes from welling with tears. This, all of this, is more than she ever thought of, ever dreamed of.

…

Jane stares at Maura as she shuts the door on her mother as she left for the guest house. Maura is smiling her cheeks a pleasant rosy color as she picks up stray wrapping paper and gift bags and mugs.

They are survivors.

She doesn't know why it's hitting her then. She doesn't quite fully understand herself sometimes but it is and it's unmistakable.

They are survivors.

As she looks at Maura, as the faint songs of a Christmas album plays in the background and the glow of colorful lights illuminate the space and the air of December fills the room, it's the only thing going through her head.

They are survivors.

She thinks Maura is more of a thriving survivor than she is. Maura doesn't have walls built around her heart with the strongest defenses known to man. Maura has been a neglected child turned neglected adult. She has had a countless number of people walk out on her, treat her badly, turn her around and against herself. Maura stares death in the face every day. Maura goes to crime scenes in her high heels and fashionable dress regardless of what people think. Maura has looked death in the eye and said a metaphorical 'not today.' Maura still feels freely, thinks freely, acts freely, lives freely despite all of the things that have been put in front of her. It's like she's somehow winning at poker with the worst hand ever dealt. It's amazing. Maura is amazing. She's a better person than Jane is, she thinks.

Because Jane doesn't live freely. No. She still has nightmares about death closing its grip around her throat, around Maura's throat. She still wakes up in a cold sweat as images of a man long dead haunts her sleeping hours. Her hands don't work and she has a scar on her side that she sometimes forgets about unless she's in the shower. She's guarded and hostile and hurt.

But together, they have survived.

Together, they are survivors.

Maura looks up. Their eyes lock. That smile is playing on her lips and her hazel eyes are dark and mysterious and Jane knows. She steps forward as Frosty the Snowman plays on the stereo, as the wind howls outside of the windows.

They are safe.

They are secure.

She is mere inches away from Maura. She feels Maura drop the trash sack she is holding and lace her fingers through her belt loops. There needn't be any words. No flashy sighs of affection or big confessions. It's just them and December and Christmas.

Stiff fingers trace over lightly freckled cheeks. There is a sigh, a tilt of a head. "Jane." The word falls from her lips in just a whisper before Jane finally, finally gains the courage to close the tiny gap between them.


End file.
